Pocket

A notebook with dog-ears and sheets rend,
Upon every other aged page,
With a pen it calls as its friend,
Nestled next to its spiral bridge.
Jostling with a handy blade,
That not only cuts, but twists bolts,
Uncorks wine bottles, a jack of all trades,
Yet master to none of many dolts.
Of course, the jingling coins,
And paper weights within a pouch,
Earned by tweaking one’s loins,
To live that which we vouch.
A voice maker that keeps close
Those that one values the most
And a sheet that only a lover knows
To catch the tears of a beloved host.
Circular string of green beads
With a crucifix reverently laid
Upon the ellipse’s alpha and omega leads
The ensemble of the man unmade.